


A Companion, Unobtrusive

by Hours_Gone_By



Series: Trope Bingo Round Twelve [17]
Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Afterlife, Allspark, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Death, Episode: s02e43 War Dawn, Gen, Pre-War, Supernatural Elements, Trope Bingo Round 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 12:53:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19229536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hours_Gone_By/pseuds/Hours_Gone_By
Summary: Blaster wasn't sure exactly when he started getting the ghost transmissions. He never asked any of his fellow communications specialists if they heard them. Something told him they were his alone to hear, that they had been since the dimly sensed-more-than-remembered time before his sparking.





	A Companion, Unobtrusive

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Written for [Trope Bingo](https://trope-bingo.dreamwidth.org) [Round 12](https://trope-bingo.dreamwidth.org/tag/round+twelve). Prompt: AU: Fantasy
> 
> The title is from Rush's [The Spirit of Radio](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wPBinohXHLc).

Blaster wasn't sure exactly _when_ he started getting the ghost transmissions. He never asked any of his fellow communications specialists if they heard them. Something told him they were his alone to hear, that they had been since the dimly sensed-more-than-remembered time before his sparking. At first, they were so faint he thought they might just be long-delayed echoes, radio transmissions bouncing off the ionosphere. But those were rare, and he was getting too many to explain that way. He tried to trace them but couldn't find the source. _Any_ source. It was as if the transmissions were just for him to intercept.

The transmissions did have words, whispers just on the edge of what he was able to understand. Blaster wanted, needed, to know what they said. It took work, more work than it should have, and, weirdly, he could never duplicate it outside of his own systems. But eventually he managed, and finally, he heard what they said:

_Where am I? What happened? I don't understand!_ Distress.

_I was just driving home. I'm supposed to be home. What is this place?_ Confusion.

_Did they get out? Did the others get out? The tunnel…this isn't the tunnel._ Concern.

_Oh! It's beautiful. I didn't know._ Wonder.

_It doesn't hurt anymore!_ Relief.

_What is this place? Hello?_ Curiosity.

Blaster was curious as well. That was the one he chose to reply to. 'Hey there, mech! Don't know where you are, but can you tell me what you see?'

_Who are you?_

'Name's Blaster.'

_Blaster. I'm Shimmerstrike of Tesaurus Minor. I-I'm in a corridor, I think. It's beautiful wherever it is. There's warmth and light and – Blaster, it's been so long since I've been warm._

Blaster did a quick DataNet search and saw an obituary for Shimmerstrike of Tesaurus Minor, posted just kliks ago. Offlined by cybercrosis – probably why she'd been cold so long.

'Shimmerstrike,' Blaster sent gently, 'do you remember where you were before?'

_I think so? Yes…oh. I remember now._

'Yeah. I'm sorry.'

_Don't be. I knew this was coming. I suppose I wasn't ready, but I can –_ Shimmerstrike laughed. _'Live' is the wrong word. Accept it, maybe, now that I know. I suppose I'll be going now. Thank you for your help, Blaster._

'Not sure what I did exactly, but, you're welcome.'

_You were a friendly voice. Sometimes that's all a mech needs. Thank you again and – and goodbye._

Shimmerstrike didn't speak again, but Blaster felt the moment she…left, crossed over, became one with the Allspark, whatever you wanted to call it. An absence and yet not.

Blaster wondered about the other voices. He replied to another, then another, then the rest.

Cybertronians lived a long time, were very hard to kill, and not all the dead needed a guide. Some of the sparks Blaster spoke with were new, like Shimmerstrike, but some (Wildwave of Ibex, Finegear of Esserlon) had waited a very, very long time indeed. They had different reasons for not having entered the Allspark: not realizing they were dead, not wanting to go, distracted by its beauty. They, all of them, just needed a friendly voice to guide them on their way, so that was what Blaster did. He replied to each one separately, always. Splitting his awareness between them in simultaneous conversations felt wrong.

Some had final words, messages, they needed someone to hear. Blaster listened to them all, and sometimes that was all that was required. Sometimes he had to promise to get the message to the one it was meant for. That was harder, but he found ways to slip them into dreams, or the stray thoughts on waking, using the same ethereal wavelengths the waiting sparks did when they reached for him.

Once, and it was only once, Blaster answered a transmission and heard the one on the other end draw back from the Allspark. That was also the only time there was a message specifically for Blaster.

_I'll go someday,_ the young-but-not voice said confidently, _but I'm not done here yet. There's still work to do. I want you to come to join me._

Blaster was cautious. 'Can't say as I won't, but you gotta give me a designation before I can find you, mech.'

The pause was thoughtful. _I will not have the name I had before, and I'm not yet who I'll be. But come to Iacon. I think you'll know where to go._

The young-but-not spark's transmission ceased. Blaster wondered at the words for a klik, while he intercepted news of an attack at a warehouse in Iacon.

In the ghost transmissions, Blaster heard a mech's real voice, and it wasn't always the same as the one produced by their voice box. In many ways, it wasn't even a voice; it was a sense of who they were. When Blaster heard Optimus Prime's voice, he knew it was the mech he'd just spoken to.

Blaster had monitored Cybertron's media for millennia. He knew there was something big, and nasty, coming to a head. This new-not-new mech, they were going to be a significant player in it. There were, he knew with a sense of foreboding, also going to be more lost sparks to guide very soon. This mech was the only other mech he knew had experienced the outer event horizon of the Allspark the way Blaster did, and Blaster had a feeling he was going to need that very soon. Even a guide needed help sometimes.

Blaster packed up and went to Iacon, to the High Council Pavilions where the new Prime was installed. He wasn't sure what he'd say on arrival, but it turned out he was expected.

Blaster wondered if the sparks who went on to the Allspark remembered his name like the one who had returned did.

"Hello Blaster," Optimus Prime said when they met, looking down at him but not making him feel smaller or lesser. "Or 'hello, again,' I suppose." Large hands came to rest on Blaster's shoulders; he had the thought that they were both giving and offering to share a burden. "I'm happy to meet you in person at last. I have a task for you…"

Blaster had not been wrong about the burden, either the giving or the sharing. There were more deaths, more sparks to guide, but fewer were surprised to have died. Distressed, angry, relieved, wondering, yes but fewer were confused. They only wanted someone with them, some last bit of company and assurance from the living as they went on their way. Blaster accompanied them each to the boundary of the Allspark, speaking or silent as they needed but present for any spark that needed it.

Always.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by #31 from [this list of prompts](https://thinkwritten.com/fantasy-writing-prompts/) on ThinkWritten: "Spirit Radio: After a few too many songs come on the radio at random coincidence, you realize you have a gift to communicate with spirits through music." It kind of went sideways from the prompt when I googled 'ghost transmissions' and discovered they're a [real thing](https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/ezpg8p/radio-ghosts-have-haunted-the-airwaves-for-nearly-a-century). And that's how Blaster became a psychopomp.


End file.
